


Sourpuss Motorcycle Club

by CabinFeverHaver



Category: Monster Lover Community, Original Work
Genre: AKA Sourpuss Motorcycle Club, F/F, Lesbian, at this point i’m just creating girlfriends no one probably cares about but hey Why not, choose ur gal type of fic, don't you desperately want a motorcycle gf too?, lesbian monster motorcycle club, small town livin’ babey!, smutty maybe? probably, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabinFeverHaver/pseuds/CabinFeverHaver
Summary: Choose your gal type of adventure, might give multiple parts to certain characters, but in the end every girl will have a chapter. Also I hope the drawings aren’t too weird to have but i got very excited about all of the girls so i went ahead and did like a cute lil character bio of each of them.
Relationships: Alien/Reader, demon/reader, franken woman/reader, ghoul/reader, lesbian reader/original lesbian monsters, vampire/reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Brand New! (Vincent Part 1)

  
Sure, moving was new. Moving from the bustling city to a small town not too far away, that was new too. And yes, the new knowledge that the small diner that your grandpa had been running in said town was a nonhuman peace center of sorts, that was also new. It was all new. New new new new new. One surprise after the next. It still left you kind of numb as you unpack your belongings from your station wagon (to no one’s surprise, not very new) into the cottage your grandpa had owned just a few months before. His passing was still relatively fresh when you received the news that he had left it all to you. The cabin, his bunker, the surrounding land, and … the diner. “Old Joan’s” is what it was called by the locals anyway, it’s real name being simply, Joan’s. Your gramps named it after your grandma, he bought the place when they moved into town to start their lives together. Quite a story, you think. You were always very close with your grandparents, but not so familiar with the nature of the town they called home, the town your father was raised in. He moved to the city and stayed there. So you were wary at first to come out and pick up the business, but really, you had nothing tying you back to the city.

The small town already showed that it was more your pace, once you finally ventured out into town, three days after moving in. Initially coming into town to only pick up some groceries, you find yourself getting stopped here and there by your grandfather’s friends, varying from human to nonhuman. Though you had only seen a few of them at the funeral, and some you’ve never even heard of, they all seem to know you pretty well already. 

“Oh, the old man would always talk about you!” A husky orc named Bruno boasts to you. “He could brag for hours about you -- hey, you still doin’ those science fairs?” The eager look on the older man’s face, illuminated by the harsh lights of the grocery store, has you playing along. No wonder your grandpa loved it here, all of his friends are just like him. 

“Bruno! Are you bothering Earl’s grandbaby again?” A gruff but feminine voice calls over from the next aisle, Bruno gives you a joking look that says, _``Oh god, help me_ , and you can’t help but chuckle at his pantomime. But with a reassuring clap on your shoulder he makes a promise of stopping by the diner once you’ve got it up and running.

_Spectacular,_ you think, _can’t wait to become a business owner_. If you were to be frank, you were kind of dreading getting Joan’s doors open again. Lots of things caused this dread. Maybe it was all of the paperwork you were gonna have to file at one point or another, maybe it was the worry that you wouldn’t be able to uphold your grandfather’s legacy and you would be run out of town by an angry mob for fucking up the local fixture. You sigh heavily in the cereal aisle. It appears now that nothing is as easy as you would like it to be.

With the beginnings of a mental to-do list forming in your head, you don’t even notice the tall wall of person you run into. You are quickly held upright by a pair of admittedly strong arms as you are just about to fall over backwards. While making your apologies for your lack of situational awareness and general clumsiness you are stopped in your verbal tracks by the woman before you. Your mouth goes dry and you feel like you’re about to explode into a million little fires all at once. She has that biker look down to pat, leather jacket well worn with loose straps hanging down the sides, low rise jeans just as rugged as the rest of her. You don’t think you’ve seen a mullet on anyone in years, let alone be able to pull one off as devastatingly well as she does. Her skin has this reddish hue that’s somewhere between peach and blood, and if her odd yet sharp smirk at your gawking didn’t already have you melting, the burn of bright red eyes behind her shades absolutely does. You manage to swallow down your awe in order to force out a quiet _Hi_. She smiles at you even wider and relinquishes her hold on your arms, fairly sure you won’t be falling on her watch anytime soon. As soon as she does so, you come to your senses and properly introduce yourself.

“That’s a pretty name you’ve got there.”

You hope she doesn’t notice the quiet shiver that runs down your neck once you hear her rough voice for the first time. “The name’s Vincent.” When she offers her hand for you to shake it’s then you realize how warm her skin is. In fact, as you ponder on it later, you think her touch was positively burning. Maybe that’s why you felt that rush of heat all over when she saved your ass from the linoleum’s despicable punishments. But with her looks, who can really tell?

While you are once again marveling at the wonders of the woman you now know as Vincent, you don’t notice the slight smile playing on her lips, even after she isn’t in contact with your skin. She knows you’re new in town, but she asks you anyway -- she likes the way you look at her, she wouldn’t mind wasting some time on the small talk she usually hates. 

“Oh yeah, I am new!” You say a little more enthusiastic than you would like, “Came back to fix up Joan’s. My dad refused to come back to small town living, so someone had to pick up the familial slack.” You chuckle a bit as recognition falls on Vincent’s face. “Oh I know! You’re Earl’s grandkid! Damn, do you know how much he talked about you? Would’ve thought that you were the second coming if I didn’t know any better.” Her sudden animated movements and speech startles you for a hot second, but ultimately it was more endearing than alarming. 

“Heh, yeah I’ve been told about that. I’m starting to think that everyone might have too much faith in me because of the old man.” Vincent’s face takes on a lighthearted cast, “Oh you’ll be fine, in fact…” as she trails off she starts searching her many pockets for god-knows-what and after a few seconds of rummaging Vincent comes up with what looks to be a business card and a pen. She quickly scribbles something on the back and hands it to you. “You can give me and the girls a call if you need help getting Old Joan on her feet again, we all love the old girl.” You tilt your head in question, “The girls?” Vincent smirks and tilts her head to the card in you hand.

SOURPUSS MOTORCYCLE CLUB

GIVE US A CALL

546-666-7019

Your mouth makes a small “o” shape in recognition. In a second though, you're looking back up at Vincent, try your darndest to paint sincerity on your features, “Vincent, I really appreciate the offer, and I would really really appreciate the hands, but I can’t even afford to pay you guys right now. It really wouldn’t be fair to you and your girls.” 

Vincent slips on that damned smirk again.

“What?” you ask in breathless confusion. Vincent simply brings her knuckle under your chin, metaphysically lighting you afire, she leans in close to your ear. Once again you curse the effect this relative stranger already has on you. To your surprise, even the whisper of her breath is searing on the shell of your ear. “We don’t mind a pro-bono repair job, plus, if it’s any consolation -- I also happen to work for free meals.” her voice is rough, too rough, and it feels like she’s _trying_ to grind you down with it. Just as soon as she’s there, Vincent pulls back, “Just give me a call, we can work something out.” With that and a goodbye grin, the whirlwind named Vincent turns on the heels of her steel-toed boots and saunters out of the aisle -- off-brand Cheerios in hand. 


	2. Early Bird (Vincent part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the club comes over to help set up the diner!

It had been hard to resist the urge to call or text Vincent straight away now that you had her  _ personal phone number  _ in your possession. Or at least, what you hoped the chicken scratch on the back of the club’s card was. Instead, you called the club’s number and received a very high-energy French woman named Gallant on the other end. You asked her if Vincent had told the rest of the club about possibly helping out with Joan’s reopening. The few seconds of radio silence on Gallant’s end then a request to “Hold, please.” had got you quite anxious. You might have been more anxious if Gallant had actually put you on hold, instead of just pulling away from the receiver while proceeding to yell in the distance for Vincent to “get her fiery ass over here and explain herself.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of the smooth and leather-clad butch you were so frazzled by in the grocery store getting chewed out. On the other end you hear muffled conversation between Gallant and the accused Vincent, no doubt, but you heard some other voices, too. The excitement of possibly spending more time with Vincent and meeting the rest of the club began to quell that pit of anxiety in your stomach just as Gallant got back on the line. 

“We’d be happy to help!” Gallant practically chirped out. You couldn’t believe it. “Oh my goodness, really? That’s amazing. I promise you guys won’t have a bad time, plus, I don’t know if Vincent told you, but if you want— meals are on the house for like, as long as you need.” 

“Ah, well I’d hope so! Most of us like to eat!” The sound of Gallant’s laughter suddenly made you feel a lot more warm to the prospect of working with the club. 

“So, when are you guys available? I’m gonna be working on what I can all this week so any day you guys are free is good for me.” There was what sounded like a scramble on the other end. Confused, you were about to ask if everything is alright when an out of breath Vincent assured you that Friday would be good and that the earliest they can start is 9 am. The effect Vincent’s labored breathing on the other end had on you was near detrimental, but you managed to get out a decent (if ragged) answer solidifying Friday’s plans. 

As if Vincent couldn’t help herself, a sweet and succinct, “See you then, sweetheart.” Made its way over the telephone lines. You were thankful that it was Vincent who hung up first. You had a feeling, just a hunch, that Vincent wasn’t going to be making your life any easier, any time soon. 

***

To your surprise, the week went quickly. Turns out, reopening a nearly 40-year-old diner can really take your mind off of a particularly stunning grocery-store demon. Even if said demon is doing her damn best to pop up all over town. You’d have to say that you saw Vincent maybe 6-10 times just this week. Some of it, yes, you guess you could spare up to small town living. But the sheer amount of times you’ve seen Vincent walk in front of your storefront, with a big goofy grin on her face and sometimes already waving before you even see her (you don’t want to think of how many times you didn’t look up and Vincent just kept on waving) had to be more than coincidence. Had you still lived in the city, and had you not been as mutually interested in seeing Vincent around, you would have considered this a bit of light stalking — creep behavior even. After some deliberation in your journal the night before the club was supposed to help you out, you decided that if it was Vincent, you didn’t mind the creep behavior. You didn’t mind it at all. 

Maybe that’s why when the demon shows up an hour early the next day, you aren’t as phased as maybe you should be. The twinkle of the new doorbells you installed earlier this week turns your attention from trying to get the jukebox to turn on to the humming demon who just walked into your diner. The coffee cups in her hands are a welcome sight, and you just stare at her in a moment of disbelief as she continues over to the counter without so much as looking at you. You observe her for a second, appreciating her tousled bed head and the happy way in which her demon’s tail swishes behind her as her feet tap to put a beat to her tune. 

_ For a supernatural being, she doesn’t seem to have great perception of her surroundings.  _ The thought makes you think of your first meeting with the demon, chuckling at the thought that maybe it was Vincent who ran into  _ you  _ and not the other way around. Your small noise seems to catch on Vincent’s ears and cause the woman to nearly fall off her bar stool.

She looks around her for the source of the noise before landing on you. “O-oh. Hey…” the eloquent facade slips away as Vincent stumbles over her words, “What’re you doin’ here so early?” You quirk an eyebrow at her, “Could say the same for you, stranger.” You get up from your squatting position at the base of the jukebox and walk over to sit yourself right next to the uninvited demon. “This happens to be my diner,” you take the coffee cup Vincent isn’t death-gripping in her hands, “and if I remember correctly, we scheduled for nine. No?” Vincent’s face goes impossibly redder at that. You didn’t even think demons could blush until you saw it on Vincent. In a second though, it’s like Vincent remembers her role and meets your gaze calmly. Her whole demeanor changes to a relaxed cast and when she speaks again, it’s just as smooth as that fateful day in the cereal aisle, “Just thought I’d help you get a head start.” She says it with a nonchalant shrug, like it’s nothing. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. Yup.” 

“That’s your excuse?” You tease her. She turns to you with an embarrassed grin on her face, not really making eye contact with you, “Do I need one?” You sit for a moment in mock contemplation. After an eternal moment of Vincent watching you intently, you lean in, settling your hand over the sturdy material of her jacket. “Well, seeing how cute you are, and that you brought coffee with you — I suppose that’s excuse enough for me.” 

Vincent can feel your eyes on her, and she feels as if you are trying to burrow yourself even further under her skin than you already are. She turns her head away, face fully emblazoned and you can even feel her temperature rise from beneath the thick leather under your fingers. It’s almost too hot to touch. Unthinking, you pull your hand in shock and hiss a bit at the sudden heat. It’s then Vincent snaps out of her embarrassment spell, turning herself fully to you in concern. She’s about to touch your hand to see if there are any burns before thinking better of it and stopping herself. The guilty look on her face speaks before she even has a chance to. “Are… are you okay?” Her voice is filled with concern. She has this expression on you can’t bare to see — you look back up at her with as reassuring a smile as you can manage. “I’m fine, just a bit shocked,” you hold up your hand for her, “See? No burns, not even red.” Vincent lets out a sigh of relief and you give her a small chuckle in turn. The demon is glad she hasn’t seared your skin off before the first date and you’re just happy to see the wrinkles of worry smooth out from her handsome features.

Vincent looks ahead once again, and you miss her attention on you. “I’m sorry about that, I’ve just been anxious to talk to you all week, and now that I’m here...” her bright red, but still shaded eyes meet yours, intense as ever, “I’m all nerves.” Her words come out as a near whisper, all breath and rasp and it’s almost too much to handle. Vincent’s got you all over again, whether she knows it or not.

Something in your heart melts even harder for Vincent. “Is that why you’ve been stalking me all week long?” Vincent flares up again, and winces, “You noticed that?” You smile at her, putting your hand over hers, this time prepared for the heat. “Yeah, but to be honest, I find it more endearing than creepy.” The burning demon before you perks up, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. Neither of you really notice how you both slowly lean into the other’s space.

“I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to you, but I chickened….” you notice now how close you are to Vincent, how close Vincent is to you, “...every time..” you smile, magnetized, “You don’t seem so chicken now.” Vincent grins right back at you, her tail wrapping around your ankle. You see her glance down at your lips and smirk.

“I guess not.” she whispers. In the second between moments, her lips are you and it’s  _ hot _ . It’s searing. Vincent’s tail curls higher up your leg as you deepen the kiss and wrap your arms around her neck. Just as you begin to burn the taste of her into your brain (smoke and toothpaste), Vincent breaks the kiss to stand up before you, She swiftly grabs your waist and lifts you onto the cherry red counter. You carefully push away the paper coffee cups and spread your legs to let Vincent slot herself between your thighs. She happily fills the space, and growls as she plants hot kisses on your neck. You gasp at the sensation, feeling your body trying match Vincent’s temperature. You can feel Vincent smiling into the crook of your neck before working her way back up to your lips. 

Even though you’ve only really known Vincent for a week, talked to her surely for less, this feels right. You kiss Vincent like you need it, grasping her lapels and pulling her against tight against you. Her thumbs circle hotness just under the hem of your shirt before traveling all over and her tousled hair tickles your face. You don’t know how long you’ve been making out with the demon until the doorbell rings out for the second time that day. You stop suddenly, wide eyed and making full eye contact with what you assume to the rest of the Sourpuss Motorcycle Club. You slap Vincent’s arm — the oblivious demon is still doing a number on your neck — she stops almost immediately and looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, a questioning grunt in her throat. You jerkily gesture to the rest of her club standing behind her, astonished that she either didn’t notice or didn’t care that all of her friends just caught her seducing the diner shop owner they were supposed to be helping that day.   
  


Vincent lazily turns around to meet her club’s teasing grins (some shaking heads in disbelief at their friend).

“Oh hey guys,” she takes a hand off your waist to check her watch and grins, “You guys are right on time!” You roll your eyes at the oblivious demon. Detaching yourself from her warm embrace and hopping off the counter you manage to introduce yourself to the rest of the club as professionally as you can after being caught snogging one of their club members.  


You set about learning their names. Gallant, whose voice you recognize from the phone shakes your hand with both of her own and plants a kiss on each of your cheeks. Well, as much of a kiss as a ski mask with no mouth can manage. The rest are new to you, and all give you a mix of reassurance and knowing smiles once introduced. After the pleasantries, the four-armed woman named Souixsie claps a set of her hands together, breaking the tension that has unfortunately settled over the diner.   
  
“So boss, where do we start?”


	3. Night Life (Minerva the Ghoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know this one is super long, and it’s kind of a slow burn, but i’m just so in love with the concept of a motorbike riding librarian.

__

_  
This life is surely, and truly, Hell._ You decide that this is the phrase of the night as you sit down in the near-empty library. Though, you suppose, there are worse places to be. The green glass lamps are soothing on the eyes, and the woodwork interior is warm. You _could_ be home in your rowdy apartment with bad lighting, or you could be in the sad, empty school with bad lighting where you teach. You shudder at the thought, not only do you not want to be there longer than you need to be (for obvious work/life reasons), but the image of eery halls and flickering fluorescents and the chance that _something_ is lurking around -- maybe even just a couple of prankster students -- is enough to keep you away. As you work your way through the sizable stack of essays (blessedly typed instead of hand-written), you realize that feeling of something lurking -- that feeling of being watched -- is here, too. You turn around, a bit of a habit from when you used to spend your weekends grading at the school, just to see if someone is actually there. To your surprise, a flit of something grey streams behind a bookcase of 18th century literature. Usually, there’s nothing there when you turn around, but this time you try not to worry about it too much. It’s not like you’re the only one who could be here, you _did_ see that sheepish librarian on the way in, and there might have been people on the upper levels who you didn't know were here. The library is open 24 hours a day for a reason, you suppose.

It’s then that you think, maybe, that’s just what 12:30 AM on a Friday night feels like. 

Despite that odd feeling of being watched that persists through your second, third, fifth, eighth visit to the library -- you continue your routine of coming there to grade assignments. You soon find yourself becoming familiar, friendly even, with the lanky, purple-haired ghoul at the front desk. At first, it was just the exchange of small talk when you first came in. The small talk that usually occurs between you getting your papers back in order due to the harsh Fall winds outside soon enough evolve into fuller conversations that tend to go on longer than it takes for you to shuffle around a few folders. Not that you mind, though. Minerva (the name of the sheepish librarian you met on your first visit to the library), always asks how your students are doing, and after finding out that telling her stories about your class clowns and most rambunctious students bring a smile to her face, you try especially hard to remember the events of your week. It’s gotten to the point where you've started writing down memorable moments on whatever you have lying around. You like to see Minerva smile, you like to see her milky white eyes (literally) glow with joy and humor. After a while you realize that you feel less and less like your time is slipping away from you. It’s beginning to feel like the weeks aren't blending together like they used to. Seeing Minerva on the weekends, hearing about her week, telling her about yours; it makes you feel organized, grounded even! After two weeks of actually remembering whether you’ve eaten that day or not, your roommates start to notice.

“I do _not_ have a glow, Ethan.” you playfully scoff. 

“Yeah, you do!” he calls out from the kitchen, “You know how I can tell?” He slumps down onto the couch next to you and you raise a scrutinizing eyebrow at him. “Enlighten me.” 

“Well, for one, I have better vision than you, _plus_ I can fucking tell when my best friend has a love-sick glow -- regardless!” You roll your eyes at the over-eager werewolf and look over at him on his side of the slouch-couch. You can practically see his tail wagging, even in his human form. “Well,” he elbows you, “Who’s the lucky gal?” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes again, “There _is_ no lucky gal!” taking an exasperated swig from your beer you start up again, “Ethan, where you get these ideas, I have no clue -- but you sound ridiculous. You know I don’t have time to date, plus, where am I going to even meet anyone?” you gesture to the living room, “I don’t go anywhere, man!” By the time you're done with your little rant, you hear Ethan laughing into his beer. You gawk at him, feeling a bit heated, “What!” you demand.

“Well, I suppose you could have met someone at work…” he pauses, for what you assume must be dramatic effect, glancing at you sideways, “... or wherever you go on the weekends.” You almost choke on your beer. Looking back, you’re not sure why you had the reaction you did. Maybe it’s because you knew that if given the notion, Ethan would haul his ass down to your sanctuary and canvas the area for answers to your “glow.” You hope he doesn’t notice your flustered reaction and pull together a response, “I just go to the library to grade papers, you dunce. You and the boys are too fucking loud and I have work to do.” You grumble into your beer and sink further into the slouch-couch, “Papers don’t fucking grade themselves.” Ethan just nods, turning himself back to the tv, where a Vincent Price marathon is running in the background. With that, you hope that was the end of the “glow” conversation, and that your performance (which wasn’t entirely a lie) was a believable one. Ethan didn’t need to know that talking to Minerva is the highlight of your entire week, and that you’ve basically been journaling and inadvertently getting your life together because of her. You were hoping Ethan would just believe you, and drop it. 

That following Friday, the first snowfall of the year touches down. As you’re shaking off the snow from your coat, and stomping out clumps of ice from your shoes, Minerva’s voice greets you from her desk. You glance up briefly and smile at her, while you get your stuff in order and walk over. You’re so tired you don’t smell the kolache until it’s in your hands. Your eyes widen, looking from the kolache to Minerva’s sweet, smiling face. A smile of your own forms on your lips in return. “You bought me a kolache?” you sound surprised, and Minerva chuckles a little bit at the cuteness of it. “Is that so hard to believe?” She says it with a smile as she watches you unwrap the pastry. You open it gently, like it’s a treasure or present, and she nearly swoons at your care. She watches the way your eyes light up when you recognize it’s your favorite flavor, and it only widens the smile already on her face. 

“How did you know?” You ask her in astonishment. Minerva just shrugs, “Might have heard from a little birdy,” you narrow your eyes at this, immediately suspecting Ethan for snooping around. But then Minerva leans forward, resting her chin on her piano-player hand -- looking coy as ever -- and suddenly you have a hard time keeping your suspicious resolve, “Maybe I took a wild guess, who knows -- I work in mysterious ways.” 

Your suspicion of Ethan’s involvement (though softened) isn’t yet quelled, so you push further on the mention of a “little birdy” as you take another bite of the doughy confection. Minerva sighs and looks you dead in the eyes, a mischievous grin on her face. “I haven’t the slightest idea who you might be talking about.” You give her a look. “Come on! Just enjoy the treat I got you.” She exclaims in defense of herself.

With that, the hardened detective role falls away. “I am enjoying it, thanks Min.” 

Her full fledged smile is back once again -- she likes it when you use her nickname. “Say, what’s _your_ favorite pastry?” Minerva is shocked out of her smile by your question, and now it’s your turn to laugh at her flustered state. “What, did you think I wasn’t gonna return the favor?” Her hesitation to respond has you dramatically placing your hand over your heart in mock hurt. “Oh, how you wound me with your doubts, Minerva!” 

She rubs the back of her neck, a nervous chuckle escaping her as a mauve flush rises in her cheeks, “I guess I just didn’t think that far ahead.” She looks you in the eyes again and you are stunned by her flustered appearance. It’s unexpectedly adorable, and makes you think of things you probably shouldn’t be doing in a library, to a particular librarian.

“I like chocolate croissants.” She says it softly, like it’s a secret. The whisper of her voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you can feel your face tingling with heat. You nod, and whisper in turn, hazed by the woman before you. “Chocolate croissant...I’ll make a note.”

****

You’re so blissed out by the tender conversation and exchange of pastries that you almost forget to be angry at Ethan and his meddling with your potential love interest. That is, until you get home to him and his shit-eating grin, perched on the kitchen counter like some kind of maniac bird. 

“Did she get you the kolache?” You glare at him and his grin only gets wider. “Yes, Ethan, she got me the kolache.” you bite out. He frowns at your less than enthusiastic response. “What’s wrong, did I tell her the wrong flavor?” 

You can’t help the scowl forming on your face at this oblivious man. “No, Ethan! The kolache flavor was perfect! Too perfect!” you point an accusatory finger at the gleeful man, “I told you there was no girl! How did you find her?” Ethan shrugs and hops off the counter. “You both couldn’t be more obvious,” he opens the fridge, “You want a beer?” He looks up at you standing in the doorless entrance of the kitchen, fuming. “Alright,” he confesses, “I _may_ have gone down to the only 24-hour library in town and I _may have_ lied and said you were in a parent-teacher conference and that you asked me to pick up some holds for you -- hey, don’t give me that look, I know you always have books on hold, they’re on the table, by the way.” You glance over at the living room coffee table and spot the alleged books. “And then _maybe_ one thing led to another and I mentioned how the way to your heart is through your stomach, your favorite kolache, yadah, yadah…” he places the beer in your catatonic hand, popping the lid for you. “And now we’re here! I assume that you got your kolache, that you’re gonna bring her something -- and the romance blossoms from there.” He says it like it’s as simple as pie and the clinking of his bottle against yours feels ominous, given the circumstance. 

“Ethan…” you start -- he lets out a questioning “hmmph?” mid-sip from his beer, “... what exactly did you tell her?” Ethan looks at you seriously now, noticing the death-stricken look on your face.

“Are you asking me if I told her you have a crush on her?” You look at him with all of the fear your body can hold, and he tries to laugh it off, “Come on, this isn’t highschool, it’s not as big of a deal as you think it is. Don’t give me that look, I didn’t even say the word crush. I just needed to help you along, because you are probably the most useless lesbian I’ve ever met! You would have just been making small talk with that librarian until the day you died!” Ethan holds you at arm’s length by your shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “Hey, listen to me, it will be _okay_. Just bring that girl the pastry you promised, and I promise it will be okay. From what I saw, she’s really into you, so just go with it!” 

So that’s what you do, you go with it. Not that wasn’t what you were already doing. You were kind of getting somewhere without Ethan’s help! But you suppose that his meddling was worth it, once you see Minerva’s face light up the next day when you bring her the croissant you promised. 

It’s when Minerva later on sits down across from you, a glimmer in her eye, and asks you if you want to take a break and “get the hell out of here” that you decide that Ethan’s meddling (if he is to be credited at all for Minerva’s bold move) was definitely worth it. You look at the clock -- 11:24 PM, and back down at the essays. It could wait until tomorrow. You smile back up at a nervously waiting Minerva. “You know what? A break sounds great.” 

You shuffle your weight from one foot to the other as you wait for Minerva by the front desk. She said that she was just getting her co-worker to take over for her. Even though, according to Minerva, the library would probably be ok without anyone up front, as the graveyard shift is apparently pretty quiet even with the town’s large nocturnal population. By the time you’ve moved on to fidgeting with the buttons on your coat, Minerva is walking out of the office behind the front desk, pulling on a leather jacket. It’s a look you never expected to see on the usually cardigan-clad librarian, but you can’t say she doesn’t pull it off either. Another thing you notice about the woman you’ve come to know over the past month and a half, is how tall she is. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her standing before and boy, she is _impressive_. You think she must stand at least two whole feet taller than you, now that she’s right in front of you. You realize you must be staring like an idiot and quickly snap yourself out of it. Minerva just smirks and jingles her keys, “Ready to go?” You nod and give her a quick “Yeah, I’m ready.” With that, Minerva grabs your hand and leads you out of the library. It’s just as cold as when you came in that night -- colder even -- and you hope that Minerva has a car or something, so you don’t have to walk around in the snow. “You got wheels?” You shake your head no. It seems as if your wish for an easy ride won’t be so quickly fulfilled. “Good. I was hoping to give you a ride on The Cruiser.” 

“The _Cruiser_ ?” you ask. Minerva nods and walks you over to one of the designated staff parking spots. Lo and behold, there she is, or at least, what you assume to be Minerva’s _Cruiser_ \-- one giant motorbike taking up a parking spot made for a car. “Have you ever been on a bike before?” Minerva asks as she walks over the monster of a machine. You grin a little bit, giddy now at the idea of being so close to Minerva on the bike, “Can’t say I have.” 

From the hollow seat, Minerva pulls out a shimmery lilac bike helmet and gestures for you to walk over. The helmet, just like her bike, matches the librarian perfectly. In your haste you nearly fall off the curb, but you quickly right yourself. “Woah, don’t go falling on me.” Minerva says as she places the helmet over your head, “Look at that -- perfect fit.” You smile at her from under it but you doubt that she can see you. “What about you?” you ask her. On the other side, you hear Minerva’s muffled laugh, “Sorry, can’t hear you, doll.” You feel her hands on the helmet and the visor being flipped up. You’re greeted back by Minerva’s smile, and snowflakes resting in her hair. “There, now I can see you, too.” Playfully rolling your eyes, you repeat yourself, “I _said_ , what about you, don’t you need a helmet?” Minerva just smiles down at you, “I’ll be fine, doll, I used to ride without helmet when I was young and stupid -- I’ll bring my spare next time, if it makes you feel better.” 

You nod, and Minerva mounts The Cruiser, gesturing for you to get on behind her. There’s plenty of room on the seat (well, as much as plenty of room can be said for a motorcycle seat) but Minerva tells you to sidle up right behind her, and to “hold on.” With that, the two of you are off. That night, Minerva took you to Joan’s for pie and milkshakes. She made you laugh harder than you have in _months_ , and her lanky digits almost never left yours. When she dropped you off at your apartment building, she planted a chaste kiss on your lips that melted you amidst the frigid night. Unbeknownst to you, that was the first of what would become many late-night “breaks.” The second time Minerva takes you to see some nightlife, as she calls it, it’s to the bowling alley. You told her you didn’t even know that the bowling alley was even open that late. Turns out, there’s a lot that one can miss out on in this town.

After a couple of weeks of going out (at least you hope you can say that the two of you are going out) with Minerva, you don’t even bring in assignments to grade on Saturday nights -- even if it means you have a bit more work to do on Fridays and Sundays, you find that your work is better when you get a day away from grammatical errors and run-on sentences. Minerva never takes you to the same place twice, yet anywhere you go, everyone seems to know her. When the town starts putting up Christmas decorations in late November, you mention to Minerva about how when you were a kid, you and your family would load into the car, hot chocolate abound, and drive around the most decked out neighborhoods to look at the lights and gaudy displays. On the first Saturday of winter break, the library is closed. You wonder if Minerva still wants to see you. To your knowledge, she didn’t mention going home for the holidays at all, but you think maybe she’s celebrating with the rest of the club. It’s not like you and the boys aren’t celebrating yourselves -- you all are just getting started on getting blackout drunk on eggnog and vodka like you usually do around this time of year. The tradition is normally accompanied by Christmas movies and Christmas movie drinking games. You’re about to call Minerva to see if she wants to join in on the boozy fun and movie riffing when your phone comes alive in your hands. To maybe no one’s surprise -- it’s Minerva.

“Hey Min, I was just about to call you!” You step into the hall to hear her better, the boys are already causing a ruckus, “What’s up?”

Minerva’s voice comes over the receiver and you practically hear her smiling through the phone, “I’ve got a surprise for you, get down here!” 

“What? Do you wanna come inside?” You run in the flat to grab your keys and Zeke, one of Ethan’s boyfriends, gives you a questioning look. _I’ll be right back_ , you mouth out. On the way down to the front entrance of your building you try to worm out what Minerva’s surprise is, but to no avail. “You’re a stone wall, you know that, right?” You say before hanging up and pushing open the double doors. And there she is, Minerva in all of her glory, with what looks to be two cups of something hot and a….. Subaru? 

“Min… what’s with the wheels?” You ask as you approach the towering ghoul. She beams down at you and hands you one of the cups of steaming liquid… hot chocolate, three giant marshmallows. You smile back up at her, musing at her shenanigans. “What is this?” 

“ _This_ , my dear, is our chariot for the night.” You cock your head to the side in question. “The big surprise is that you got a car?” A perfect image of shock falls on your face, “Minerva! Please don’t tell me you traded in The Cruiser, I didn’t mean it when I said I hated getting facefuls of bitching cold all the time-” your worried protest is cut short by Minerva bursting into laughter. She wraps an arm around your waist, “No, not that -- I’m just borrowing the old gal from a friend of mine.” You look up at Minerva again, “So… what _is_ your surprise?” 

Minerva taps a long, charcoal finger to the tip of your nose, “The surprise, hon, is that I’m taking you to see some rich people decorations!” The smile blooming on your facing makes Minerva blush something fierce as you tell her to stay put while you grab your coat. You kiss her on the cheek as you hand off your hot chocolate, “Keep that warm for me, huh?” You say with a wink. You almost can’t help the schoolgirl squeal that rises in your throat as you head back upstairs. It’s been _years_ since you’ve done this. When you do finally reach your flat, Ethan and the boys have started the movie without you. You feel guilty for a hot second and send an apologetic face to Ethan when he catches your eye on the way out. However, that guilt is gone as soon as it comes when he gives you a knowing smile, followed by an encouraging “Go get some!” 

By the time you get back downstairs, Minerva’s already in the car. You hop in, thankful for the warmed up car, even more thankful for the heated seats. “So, where to first?” You ask, turning to Minerva. She smirks sideways, “How does Riverside sound?” You pull on a joking ponder before giving your answer. “Sounds perfect, I hear that some of the houses over there hire a Santa to sit out on their front lawn.” Minerva beams at you before pulling out onto the street, “You really are adorable, you know that, right?” Rolling your eyes, you turn up the radio. The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. The radio, while not exactly filled with Christmas carols (you and Minerva decide that classic metal anthems are more fun), fills the car with it’s own type of joy. And there does happen to be a Santa which you convinced a very weirded out Minerva to take a picture with. As the hour gets closer and closer to midnight and the hot chocolate supply has run dry, the two of you feel that you’ve done enough sightseeing for the night. 

Leaning back in your seat and feeling warm from both hot beverages and the holiday cheer, you gaze up at Minerva while she drives. She looks devastating whenever she’s focused on something. Maybe it’s because you’ve only observed her engrossed in her work a rare number of times, or that you can’t really see her face when she’s riding The Cruiser -- but you’ve never noticed it before. After a few moments of silence she glances over at you, and giggles at your staring, “What are you looking at?” 

“Just you…” you muse. “See something you like?” Her best replication of casanova grin spreads across her face as she uses one arm to flex for you. You sit up, giggling a bit as you lean closer to her, “You know I do!” With another sideways glance and a mischievous look, Minerva pulls over on the shoulder of the stretch of empty road leading back to town. She puts the car in park and turns to you. A lanky digit brushes your mussed hair away from your eyes before holding your face between her giant hands. The contrast in temperature between her perpetually chilled hands and the heated car send a jolt through your system and makes you gasp ever-so slightly. Just as you start to lean in to kiss her, Minerva leans forward to seal her lips to yours. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared a kiss with the ghoul, but this time something is different. There’s a certain kind of heat behind the kiss that makes it so different from the sweet kisses had under the awning of your building. You’re angry at yourself for not doing it like this sooner. But now that it’s actually happening, you don’t think you will ever be able to stop. Except _maybe_ to breathe. 

In fact, when Minerva pulls away to catch a breath, a deep purple flush covering her cheeks, you trail after her — negligent of your own need for air. In a second though, she’s back on you. This time taking advantage of your already open mouth and sliding her supernaturally long tongue into your mouth. You can’t help the breathy moan that escapes you as her dexterous tongue explores your mouth and her cold hands grip tightly on the back of your neck. The shock from before begins to settle in your core and you find yourself scrambling your hands under Minerva’s sweater. She shivers against your touch. With a hand gently pushing on your chest, Minerva detaches herself from the kiss, and your wandering hands. “My friend will kill me if we fuck in his car.” She says between laboured breaths. The heat rises to your face, suddenly too aware of how forward you were being. You’re about to utter out an apology when Minerva presses her long index finger to your lips, “Don’t go looking guilty on my watch, cowgirl. I never said we weren't gonna finish what we started. Now --” She says, pulling the car back on the road, “--your place or mine?” You think about your place for a second. On one hand, your flatmates (AKA, Ethan and his boyfriends) could be totally passed out from the copious amounts of alcohol they were consuming -- on the other hand, they could be having a Christmas-time orgy in the living room in lieu of your absence. You didn’t like those odds. Turning to Minerva, you give an answer. “Yours.” She slides her hand over to your thigh and squeezes. “Mine it is.”

The entire ride to Minerva’s place, her hand doesn’t leave your thigh, sometimes wandering further north, sometimes just rubbing soft circles into your flesh with her thumb. All it does though, is get you even more riled up than you were before. Once you both finally manage to stumble into Minerva’s quaint flat, your curiosity about where she lives is over-powered by your need for, well, Minerva. She leads you to her bedroom at the end of the hall and you feel giddy when she suddenly turns around and carries you bridal-style over the threshold of the room. You splay your hand over her chest, feeling the worn material of her sweater under your fingers. She plops you down on the edge of her bed. The height difference between the two of you is at an extreme now, with her hulking over you and you leaning further back onto her bed. In no time, Minerva has you caged beneath her and is pressing languid kisses to your collarbones and neck. You play with the hem of her sweater and grunt out what must sound like a barbaric “Off.” 

She complies, however, and raises her arms so you can properly remove her clothing. You’re pleased to find that she isn’t wearing a bra. Next, your hands dive for the clasp on her jeans. You thank whatever deity of hooved creatures is out there in the world for making this part of the process so much faster. Under her jeans, you find that Minerva is all legs, and adorable Hello Kitty boxers. You giggle at the unlikely underwear and the ghoul before you blushes profusely. Looking away from you as you admire her bare body, she grumbles out an excuse of laundry day before setting to work on you. In no time, Minerva seems to be giving you the same gawking treatment, quickly leaning down to lavish her long tongue on your skin. The muscle slides between your breasts before coiling around a nipple. You squeak at the sensation but are quick to cover your mouth. Minerva pulls your hand away. “No,” she pants out, lust heavy in her voice, as she looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. “I wanna hear you.” Her sentence gets muffled when she returns her attention to your body. She’s still gripping your wrist as she goes lower and lower, right where you need her most. 

In a flash, she’s kneeling at your core, and has pushed both of your legs back with one impossibly large hand. You feel hot puffs of her breath spread over you as she just admires you for a moment. Her other hand relinquishes it’s hold on your wrist as it trails down your body, finally coming to your core, where she uses it to experimentally spread you before her. Your whine of want at the sudden contact escalates into a breathy moan when her tongue is finally on you. After a few cursory flicks of your clit, Minerva lets one of your legs fall back onto the mattress while slinging the other over her shoulder, pulling you closer to her. Minerva’s tongue reaches far back into you, pulling sounds out of your throat that you didn’t know you could make. The muscle occasionally curls around that small bundle of nerves, rubbing you just right. You fist handfuls of Minerva’s purple hair, not sure whether it’s too much and you should push her away, or if it’s not enough and you should pull her closer. In the end, though, the ghoul has you clenching around her tongue. She works you through the high and fall of your orgasm like she can’t get enough. Soon enough, you do end up having to push her away when you get too sensitive. She just looks up at you then from between your legs, her devilish tongue licking away all evidence of you from her face. 

_Oh Gods,_ you think, the intense eye contact doing you no favors, _she’ll be the end of me won’t she?_

The languid and blissed out smile you give Minerva as she rises back up to press her body flush against you makes the ghoul’s heart turn to honey, proud of the puddle she’s made of you. Her pale eyes glow upon you in the dimly lit room while you catch your breath. A charcoal hand traces from your temple to your waist, and back up again while the two of you just look each other in the eye. “Good?” Minerva whispers. You nod, not yet sure you can speak actual human words. A few tender moments later, though, you’ve got your breathing to return to normal. Wasting no time, you flip Minerva over, so that you’re sitting between her long legs. The look she’s giving you is filled with blush and awe and you chuckle to yourself at how adorable it is. It reminds you of that day in the library, back then, you though you’d only ever be able to fantasize about the woman before you. 

“What, did you think I wasn’t going to return the favor?” You trace your fingers down Minerva’s stomach, letting them come to rest on the inside of her thighs. She smiles in recognition at how this whole thing began, pulling you up to kiss her long and hard. Her smile is surely dopey when you detach and begin working your mouth along the great expanse that is Minerva, her head lolling back as you have your way.

“I guess I just didn’t think that far ahead.”


End file.
